Not your martyrs anointed of heaven-
The ages are red where they trod-
But the Hunted-the world's bitter leaven-
Who smote at your imbecile God-
A being to pander and fawn to,
To propitiate, flatter and dread
As a thing that your souls are in pawn to,
A Dealer who traffics the dead;
A Trader with greed never sated,
Who barters the souls in his snares,
That were trapped in the lusts he created,
For incense and masses and prayers-
They are crushed in the coils of your halters;
'Twere well-by the creeds ye have nursed-
That ye send up a cry from your altars,
A mass for the Martyrs Accursed;
A passionate prayer from reprieval
For the Brotherhood not understood-
For the Heroes who died for the evil,
Believing the evil was good.
To the Breakers, the Bold, the Despoilers,
Who dreamed of a world over-thrown…
They who died for the millions of toilers-
Few-fronting the nations alone!
-To the Outlawed of men and the Branded,
Whether hated or hating they fell-
I pledge the devoted, red-handed,
Unfaltering Heroes of Hell!
A Toast
Lola Ridge
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Poem topics: alone, god, greed, heaven, never, good, bold, bitter, thrown, prayer, evil, red, world, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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